


Weaving the Midsummer

by kalalanekent, Sarai of Umardelin (anissa7118)



Series: Teach Me How to Fight, I'll Show You How to Win [7]
Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M, LFFL challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 13:10:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15120086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalalanekent/pseuds/kalalanekent, https://archiveofourown.org/users/anissa7118/pseuds/Sarai%20of%20Umardelin
Summary: Queen Sarai celebrates the summer solstice according to Underground traditions.  There will be feasting, and drinking, and dancing, and a very handsome king at her side throughout.





	Weaving the Midsummer

**Author's Note:**

> For the Labyrinth Fanfic Lovers FB group challenge, "write a Summer/Solstice story. Your prompts are the following: Sun/sunshine, feast/feasting, celebration/gathering, ritual, vacation, outdoors/outside, water/swimming. Pick 3 and have fun!" We basically got all of them except water/swimming.

“Best clear your schedule for a few days around Midsummer,” Jareth had warned. “The solstice celebrations are particularly vigorous. And Umardelin’s queen cannot shirk her duties at such ancient rites.”

Sarah had asked for the time, warning Jareth that there would be absolutely _no_ public nudity. She had something of an idea of what to expect, having studied mythology over the years. This was one of the holidays of the Celtic pagan calendar, the one that celebrated the sun and the ripeness of the earth, the fields bursting with vegetables and grain, and the livestock fattening up in green sun-soaked pastures. Later would come fall, and the harvest, death in the form of sickle and butcher’s blade, meted out to feed the flickering flame of life through the winter, and she shivered a little to imagine _that_. Though she had been a part of the Wild Hunt months before, she wasn’t yet comfortable with matters of that gravity. The time would come, but it needn’t be dealt with just yet.

Now was the hour to celebrate life, and she knew there would be a feast and a bonfire and a lot of booze, without a doubt. All the goblins’ holidays seemed to end up with them dancing drunkenly through the city, singing songs whose lyrics she quickly learned not to examine. Ah, life amongst her subjects. Sarah stifled a laugh at the thought as she took off her blazer and heels before moving toward the cheval glass that would take her to Umardelin once more.

She still wasn’t prepared for the sheer volume of  _noise_ that met her ears when she stepped through the mirror into her quarters. It sounded like a riot outside – as most goblin parties did – and she hastily donned the dress that awaited her. Yellow wasn’t usually her color, but it did look good and suited the season with its bright hue, the material light and flowing, darkening to fiery orange at the hem. Boots went with it, and to finish dressing, Sarah shoved a couple of amber-studded hair pins into her dark locks to contain them.

Clattering down the stairs, she saw goblins running back and forth. They’d forsaken their usual iron helmets for caps decorated with horns or antlers, or covered with flowers, or a mix of both. Some of the horns were real, some were made of cloth or carved from wood, and some of the flowers were clearly plucked from the castle gardens while others were made from paper. All of it was a riotous display of color and joy.

Neesk thumped onto her shoulder, chirruping, and wrapped his tail around her neck. That simple act of affection made her heart squeeze; without a thought, her hand reached to curl over the top of his head, ruffling the fur there. He had left the apartment hours ahead of her, wanting to help with the festivities while she had been finishing her mundane errands. Sarah turned to see him sporting a set of roe deer antlers that must’ve nearly outweighed him, unable to hide her grin. “You needs flowers, yer queeniness!” he said delightedly, and ran down her back to acquire some by the simple expedient of tripping the nearest goblin and stealing their hat.

“Neesk, no, I’ll get some flowers, you don’t have to take someone else’s,” Sarah laughed, even as he bounded up and shoved a giant daylily into her hair. But it was too late, her subjects had noticed her lack of floral decorations, and suddenly Sarah had a dozen goblins scampering up to offer her their blooms. She didn’t have the heart to say no, and found herself wearing an absurdly huge flower crown by the time she got out to the courtyard.

In the center of the courtyard was an enormous pile of wood, composed partly of firewood and huge logs, and partly of what looked like broken furniture and fallen branches. The goblins were adding to it steadily, as were the rest of Umardelin’s residents. Sarah even saw Hoggle throw an armload of old dried vines onto the heap. “That’s gonna be one hell of a bonfire,” she said, impressed.

Jareth arrived at her shoulder, wearing a bright red coat – and an antlered crown whose branching tines were wound with golden wire, supporting gold leaves and flowers with ruby centers. He looked downright  _merry_ in those brighter colors, and kissed Sarah heartily to the amusement of the goblins. She nudged him, smirking at how demonstrative he was with an audience. 

“Excellent timing, precious,” he told her, sliding an arm around her waist. “The feast comes first, of course, but as the sky begins to darken we shall light the bonfire.”

“And what exactly are my queenly duties for this festival?” Sarah said archly, making her expression almost dramatically dubious.

“Be beautiful and floral, get tipsy on berry wine and cider, and dance after the feast,” Jareth replied. “This one does not require so much effort from us as Beltaine.”

Sarah, who remembered finding bits of grass in her hair and under her dress after the Beltaine rite out in the fields, elbowed him gently. That had been … an experience and nowhere near as toned-done as even the most lascivious of the history books made it sound. None of them had even given a clue of the strength of magic that flowed during that particular ritual. “Yeah, you sure seemed to consider it hard work, you lascivious heathen.”

Jareth grinned, and retorted, “I’ll let you be the judge of how  _hard_ the work was, my love. Be glad we are not a larger kingdom. In Etaron, one sometimes stumbled over several couples before finding a place to celebrate.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. As if he would even try to resist the urge. “Why is everything a dick joke with you?”

He only chuckled. “We  _heathens_ , as you say, do not joke about matters phallic. That is quite a serious component of rite and ritual.” Even as spoke, another group of goblins ran past, these carrying short sticks with pine cones on the end, whooping and smacking each other with them. Sarah could see the intended resemblance, and raised her eyes skyward again. So much of pagan celebrations had to do with the unflinching realities of life, death, and sex. Particularly sex, or so Jareth was trying to convince her.

Jareth lead her to where tables groaned under the weight of the feast, dish after dish of summer fruits and vegetables, and tender meats. For dessert there were enormous platters piled high with cookies and honeycakes and sticky sunflower-seed treats. Kegs of cider and casks of wine had been tapped for the occasion, condensation forming on their surfaces from being brought out of the cold buttery into the hot sun. It would all be served buffet style, and Jareth and Sarah as monarchs had first choice of the food.

But even before they could fill their plates, Jareth led her up to a huge cask of wine and another of cider, both positioned on trestles at the base of an enormous oak tree. Looking up, Sarah saw the boughs of the tree decorated with more flowers, and a truly huge set of antlers mounted atop a curling pair of ram’s horns. “Take that plate of cakes, and scatter them beneath the tree once I’ve broached the first cask,” Jareth told her softly.

Then he hefted a mallet, and a goblin scurried up to hold the tap in place on the wine barrel. “The first drink is for the gods, and we give them thanks for light and life!” Jareth called out, and his people roared back as he swung the mallet. The tap was open, and wine began to pour forth, sinking into the soil around the roots. Sarah broke the cakes and tossed them about, her fingers quickly getting honey-sticky, while Jareth broached the cider cask as well. Soon the ground beneath that oak was foaming with cider, and butterflies and bees arrived, attracted by the scent. Squirrels darted down the trunk to snatch up the wine-soaked honeycakes, and Sarah chuckled at the thought of how drunk those poor animals would be.

She and Jareth moved on to the feast itself, taking plates made of pressed leaves from a stack and cups made of bark to drink from. Nowhere in Umardelin except the ballroom could possibly seat everyone, and the summer solstice was traditionally celebrated outside, beneath the life-giving sun. So everyone, even the king and queen, found seats of their own on the grass or under the trees. Jareth had in mind a particular shady spot, which Sir Didymus had held for them. The sight of her favorite knight with a flower half his own size in his hat made Sarah chuckle, and soon she was seated with her king and her oldest friends.

Children of all races, human and fae and goblin and night troll and dwarf, scampered around playing merrily. Neesk was in the midst of them, riding on the head of whoever was ‘it’, nipping the hands of those trying to tag the target. Flower fairies swooped about snatching blooms from unwary revelers, or dropping more onto others’ heads. Sarah even saw their serious chef, Beldych, with flower chains trailing from his antlers and ribbons wrapped around his waist, being chased by a dozen giggling children intent on tangling him up in more of the same. Soon enough the rest of the adults joined in the play, and Sarah saw several intersecting games of tag and hopscotch and catch.

As the afternoon wore on, someone started beating a drum, and soon someone else joined in. Eventually the beat of the drums became pervasive, with soaring pipes and singing fiddles floating over in a gorgeous interwoven melody. The playing turned to dancing, and Jareth pulled Sarah to her feet from where she’d been leaning against Ludo’s side, swinging her out into the crowd. This was no measured waltz such as at her coronation, just a bunch of slightly drunk, very happy people dancing as if they hadn’t a care in the world. And it was a great joy to her to be one of them, dancing until she was dizzy and laughing until she lost her breath.

The sun crept toward the horizon, finally, and everyone began to crowd around the bonfire. Jareth and Sarah approached just as a handful of goblins splashed lamp oil onto the wood. Sarah eyed it nervously; the heap was taller than she was, and as big as a car. “Is that entirely safe?” she murmured to Jareth.

“Few things worth doing are entirely safe,” he told her. Meanwhile the goblins were wheeling out a strange contraption that consisted mainly of gears and lenses. One of their number jumped and chattered and growled until the device was placed to his satisfaction, then gave Jareth a sweeping bow. It was the king’s task to pull a lever which aligned the great glass pane, sharply curved to focus the sunlight.

Sarah saw what they were about, and her jaw dropped. It made perfect sense to light the midsummer’s night bonfire from the sun itself, and yet, she tended to forget the goblins’ ingenuity. A few more fiddling adjustments by the chief engineer, and a beam of bright white light struck the base of the bonfire. Already the wood was smoldering, but a slight adjustment focused the light on a bundle of straw placed there, and that caught alight instantly. Someone with a long stick poked the burning straw deeper into the pile of logs.

The straw then ignited the lamp oil, and Sarah jumped back at the huge  _whump_ of the bonfire catching, more felt than heard as air rushed into the eager flames. Within seconds, the flames shot higher than a second-story ceiling. The heat was intense, and the gathered crowd roared their approval, pounded drums, and played hectic fanfares on trumpets. Sarah was more than happy to fall back, letting the wild dancers around the fire leap and twirl like the flames themselves. The Fireys had arrived at some point, and were now throwing their own heads over the fire, yelping and laughing when they singed their feathers. Sarah kept her distance from them; of all her subjects, only they disturbed her. Then again, Jareth had gambled with her sanity bringing her back here, and if she’d failed in her second run even now she might be cackling and flinging her head about right along with them. Everyone else sang and danced more wildly than before, some of their infectious madness catching.

She and Jareth were drawn into the revel as the dancers all grabbed one another’s hands, weaving around the flame and back through their own line. Sarah kept well back from the fire itself, but others were not so careful, and every so often someone would jump back slapping at their clothing. It made her heart race, to see such daring, but Jareth caught her eye and nodded at the big casks still unopened. She understood then that they were keeping water handy to douse any truly dangerous flames, and relaxed a little.

Still, she felt almost sunburned by too close a turn, and took herself out of the dancing. Jareth managed to get loose a moment later, arriving at her side with a different kind of fire in his gaze. No words needed, he pulled her close for a kiss, and Sarah flushed to hear her subjects cheering. Dammit, he  _did_ love an audience.

The sky grew darker, until the bonfire was the only light. Children and goblins began to run up to the flames, stealing burning sticks with which to light fireworks. The flash and crackle of them dazed Sarah’s eyes and stunned her ears, but she did notice more wood being piled on the bonfire. “How long are they planning on burning it?” she asked, her mouth close to Jareth’s ear.

“All night,” he replied. “We’ve been laying wood by all year for this. Look, they’re splitting the fire now.”

He was right, men with long hooked poles were tugging the burning logs asunder. They were careful, but Sarah still winced as sparks and coals flew about. She couldn’t see the point to it, the two fires were only about six feet apart, and the ground between remained scorching hot. Perhaps it was symbolic…?

And then she heard the lowing of cattle, and her folklore classes became useful yet again. “Oh crap, you do that thing where they chase the cattle between the fires?” she asked, turning to Jareth with brows raised in surprise. “I thought that was only Ireland!”

“Etaron opens to Eire,” Jareth reminded her. “We have not the local accent, Mother and Father’s father not being from Etaron originally, but that is where most of our people come from. And while they say in Eire that the tradition is to _protect_ the cattle from the Fair Folk, in truth it began to bless them with Brighid’s fire. And so we drive our cattle betwixt the flames, in the hopes they will be healthy and bear strong calves.”

The dancers had cleared a path, and Sarah turned to see the first cows hesitantly approaching through the crowd, bellowing unhappily. Behind them she could hear whistles and cracking whips, and she saw the hulking forms of several night trolls. What better residents of the Umardelin to push the cattle forward, than Ludo’s people, who outweighed the beasts? They were accompanied by villagers with whips, cracking harmlessly over the cows’ rumps to urge them on, but it was the implacable wall of night trolls that truly made them go forward.

The cattle had no choice but to scamper between the fires, kicking up their heels, and the herdsmen drove them mercilessly on. Only once did a particularly savvy cow try to leap into the crowd to escape, but the men and fae assembled quickly caught her by the horns and turned her back toward the herd. Sarah winced, as it seemed time and again that someone might be trampled or burned, yet by some miraculous luck the cattle were pushed through the narrow tunnel between flames without any injuries to men or beasts. Goblin sweepers ran about, cleaning up the evidence of the cattle’s unhappy transit, and the coals were raked over between the two bonfires.

Those were burning low, at last, fresh logs piled on more sparingly, and flames licking only four feet or so instead of the towering fire of earlier. People were casting bundles of herbs into the flames, making the smoke smell sweet. The music and singing started up again, and the crowd began to look restless. Jareth kissed Sarah’s temple, and asked, “How high do you think you can jump, precious?”

She turned a look of incredulity on him. “You’re kidding me,” Sarah began, but his expression was all too serious. “Jareth, jumping over bonfires is something you should’ve warned me about ahead of time!”

“You said your only caveat was no public nudity,” Jareth replied. “Come now, you are reasonably athletic. If you cannot clear the flames, I can give you a subtle boost with magic. But you and I as monarchs must be the first to leap.”

“I’m also wearing a _dress_ ,” Sarah growled. “And not particularly looking forward to catching my skirt on fire.”

He shook his head. “We will pass through the flame too quickly for that. Come, Sarah. Your people know you are not of the Isles, that you know the old ways only as legends. They will not mock you for being uneasy – but you  _are_ queen. You must leap the bonfire, or risk bringing ill-luck on the entire kingdom.”

He had a point, and to be honest, she was more afraid of looking like a fool than she was of the fire. Sarah looked at the blaze again, biting her lip. “Of course you knew about this your whole life,” she groused. “It wasn’t any trouble for you, your first Midsummer as king.”

Jareth chuckled softly. “On the contrary. I’d just had a piece of bad news, and retreated to my chamber with an entire keg of ale. The goblins had to roust me from my bed and  _toss_ me through the flames. Which, while extremely unpleasant, did sober me up with alacrity. My next leap was under my own power, and higher than a hungover princeling should manage – but I knew I’d spilled ale down my shirtfront, and had no wish to catch it alight.”

Sarah shuddered at the thought. “Okay, yeah, at least I’m in my right mind and not soaked in alcohol. Damn, Jareth, you really  _sucked_ at this in the beginning, didn’t you?”

He chortled, and squeezed her to his side. “My first months in this kingdom were either very bad, reasonably good, or downright awful, switching back and forth between extremes fast enough to leave me dizzy. Someday I will tell you the tale of it, love. For now, will you leap?”

Letting out a long sigh, Sarah nodded. “God help me, the things I let you talk me into,” she muttered.

“Best ask the goddess Brighid for help, as it is her flame,” Jareth corrected gently. Religion was a private matter among the fae, despite the very public rites, and any suggestion of proselytizing was considered extremely poor manners. That was only a slight joke to set her at ease, though, and Sarah grinned at him. He smiled back, and added, “Take my right hand in your left, and hike your skirts as high as you dare with the other, the better to keep the flame from the fabric. Are you ready?”

Sarah did as he asked, and gritted her teeth. It was insanity, but there was no backing down. Whatever this place asked of her, she would find a way to be up to the challenge. “Let’s do this.”

It took all of her courage to run right at a huge pile of burning logs, every survival instinct warning her away. She took a deep breath, though, and jumped as high as she could, tucking her heels up, the panic-rat in the back of her brain  _screaming_ at her for this lunacy. A flicker of magic lifted her just a little higher, and she felt weightless for a moment, barely aware of the heat just below her.

The moment in which they were airborne seemed to last a few seconds too long, and then she was falling safely back to earth, getting her feet under her so as not to stumble. The adrenaline rush hit her then, more immediate than a roller-coaster, and Sarah threw her head back and laughed in disbelief.  _**Holy shit, I did it.** _ Jareth spun her around, catching her up, and grinned with flames dancing in his eyes. Sarah seized his lapels and kissed him hard, laughter bubbling up in her throat the whole while. “Again?” he asked, when she let him go.

And mad as it was, she answered, “Yes!” What else could the Labyrinth’s Queen and Champion do, but dare the fire yet again, and trust in luck and wit and magic to save her?

Thinking that, she felt the kingdom stir about her, close and warm and sun-bright. Even more than the delight of her people, she loved the approval and pleasure her land took in her. And that, the love she felt from this place that had been a part of her since the moment she’d first held that red leather-bound book in her hands, made every new trial, every possible misadventure, well-worth the risk. What more could a girl possibly want?

Bathed in Umardelin’s contentment, she shot a teasing grin at Jareth, feeling the magic curl about her like a contented cat when she looked at him, and he looked at her, his mismatched eyes alight.

Well, having the Goblin King all for her very own didn’t exactly hurt, either.

 


End file.
